Sherlock: Bonjour
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: Mycroft was expecting his partner when he answered the door. Not a smaller version of him. Parent!strade.


**SHERLOCK**

**BONJOUR**

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**Author's Note:**

**Pairing: **Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

**Warnings: **Mild swearing

**Note: **The French translations are at the end of the story

**Disclaimer: **Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

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Mycroft had just finished making dinner when the doorbell rang. He smiled to himself as he wiped his hands clean on a tea-towel and went to answer the door. It was nearly Christmas, and the holidays always seemed to draw out the murderers and other psychos; Gregory had been swamped with work for the past three weeks, and even Sherlock had crashed after working four cases in a row. _He _was currently at home being taken care of by Doctor Watson, leaving Mycroft himself to take care of his own boyfriend.

He smiled as he opened the door, mouth open to great his partner-

But froze when his eyes landed on a boy. A teenager, to be precise. Mycroft estimated his age to be fifteen or so, and he had dark brown hair that fell across his forehead in messy curls and big, chocolate brown eyes. His resemblance to a certain Detective Inspector, and the various photos Mycroft had seen, made the red-head realise that it was Greg's son.

'Er... hello,' the boy said, giving Mycroft a small smile.

'You have your father's smile,' was what Mycroft blurted out, and then blushed when the boy chuckled.

'Ah, right, so you know who I am,' he nodded. 'But Dad would get real upset if I didn't keep my manners, so-' he thrust his hand out as he smiled up at Mycroft, '-Brandt Lestrade, Greg's son.'

'Mycroft Holmes,' the older man replied, firmly shaking Brandt's hand. 'I'm-'

'Dad's boyfriend,' Brandt interrupted. 'Yeah, I know.'

Mycroft managed to compose himself and stepped back from the door. 'I suppose you'd better come in,' he said, gesturing for Brandt to enter. The teenager did and Mycroft indicated where he could hang up his coat and take his shoes off.

Brandt followed Mycroft down the hallway and into the sitting room/kitchen. The tray of pasta bake was still sitting on the counter, along with garlic bread, a large bowl of salad, and a bottle of wine.

'I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but what are you doing here?' Mycroft asked as he stepped up into the kitchen.

'Oh, er...' Brandt scratched at the back of his head, which was something Greg did when he was nervous or embarrassed. 'I hate Mum's new boyfriend,' the teenager said bluntly. 'And both Hannah and Brody have their friends over, and I don't really have any friends, so I didn't feel like hiding from a bunch of teenagers, and, um... yeah.' Brandt shrugged. 'I figured I'd hide out at Dad's, but then I remembered him mentioning that he was spending the weekend at your place, so here I am.'

'I'm curious as to how you got my address,' Mycroft said, wondering if Greg had told his kids. He knew that Greg had told them he was dating a man, but Mycroft didn't know just how many they shared.

'I stole it from his address book- the one he keeps at the Yard,' Brandt admitted.

Mycroft chuckled. 'My brother would like you,' he mused.

'That's Sherlock, right?' Brandt asked, and Mycroft looked up from where he was pouring himself a glass of wine. 'Mum and Dad used to fight about Sherlock Holmes a lot,' Brandt explained. 'And then when Dad said he had a new boyfriend, he mentioned you being Sherlock's brother.'

Mycroft nodded and set the bottle of wine aside. 'Yes, Sherlock's my younger brother; by ten years.'

Brandt whistled. 'I'm the youngest,' he said and sat himself on one of the stools at the counter. 'I don't really count David's kid, Brody, as my little brother, despite how chummy him and Mum are getting.'

Mycroft just nodded again. They fell into silence as Mycroft dished up two plates of pasta bake. When he was done he paused and glanced up at Brandt. 'Would you like some?'

'Um, I dunno wanna, like, impose or nothing,' Brandt said. 'I kinda showed up unannounced and all.'

'Believe me, I have plenty to go around,' Mycroft said and gestured at the tray of food. 'And I think Gregory would be a tad upset if I refused to feed his son.'

Brandt smiled and finally nodded, watching as Mycroft made him up a plate. The older man placed it on the counter before him and passed over a fork, Brandt thanking him with a smile. Mycroft walked around the counter after picking up his wine glass and sat at the end.

'Wow, this is awesome,' Brandt mumbled after his first mouthful.

'Thank you,' Mycroft replied.

'It's awesome that you can cook, 'cause Dad's horrible,' Brandt informed the red-head. 'He tried to make pancakes once and set fire to the pan.'

Mycroft chuckled and took another sip of wine.

'And one time, I think it was Hannah's fifteenth birthday, Dad tried to make breakfast for her. You can guess what happened.'

'He set the pan on fire?' Mycroft guessed.

Brandt smirked. 'Nope, the toaster.'

Mycroft laughed out-loud at that, and Brandt grinned, looking proud of himself. They passed the next few minutes chatting softly and eating, Mycroft asking about Brandt's school work, and Brandt asking how Mycroft had met his dad.

'Did you really kidnap him, or was my dad drunk when he told me that?' Brandt asked.

Mycroft flushed lightly and glanced away. 'I... may or may not have taken him against his will to discuss my brother.'

'Oh my God,' the teenager grinned. 'Who does that?'

Mycroft didn't answer, preferring to grab a fork and get started on his own dinner. He was sure Gregory wouldn't mind them starting without him.

'Okay, so I got a question,' Brandt said, once more drawing the red-head's attention. 'How do you go from kidnapping someone to dating them?'

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder elegantly and chewed his mouthful slowly before answering. 'I'll admit that I was attracted to him when we first met, but I knew he was married, so nothing came of it. We grew closer over the five years we knew each other, and when we both found ourselves single...' he trailed off and shrugged again, 'we decided to try dating.'

'And you've been together how long?' Brandt asked. ''Cause Dad only told me and Hannah, like, a few weeks ago that he had a boyfriend. But I'm guessing you've been dating longer than that.'

'It'll be six months in two weeks,' Mycroft informed the teenager.

Brandt whistled. 'Wow, six months,' he mused. 'That's a record for Dad.'

'Is it?' Mycroft inquired.

'Well, as far as I know it is,' Brandt shrugged. 'Obviously he dated Mum for a while before they got married, but from what I've gathered Dad didn't have many long relationships before that. And one of his one-nighters was at his flat when Mum dropped us off soon after the divorce and him and Mum yelled at each other for a bit.'

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at that, wondering how Gregory had handled getting caught with a one-time shag by his kids.

'It was a bloke, which made it even more embarrassing for him,' Brandt continued. 'Dad hadn't told us he was bi, and Mum's always been a bit uncomfortable with Dad liking blokes too. It's why she'd flip her shit if she knew I was here.'

'Should you be swearing?' Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

'I'm fifteen,' Brandt pointed out. 'Don't tell me _you _weren't swearing at fifteen.'

Mycroft smiled at that. 'I mostly swore in French,' he admitted. 'And a little Spanish.'

Brandt perked up at that. 'You speak French?'

Inclining his head, Mycroft said, '_Oui_.'

'That doesn't prove anything,' Brandt wrinkled his nose.

'_R__evenons à nos moutons_...' Mycroft hummed and Brandt grinned.

'So at the door, I should have said, "Bonsoir"?' Brandt asked. 'Or maybe,_ "comment allez-vous?_"'

Mycroft smiled; Brandt's French was very good, his accent barely noticeable.

'Dad taught me,' the teenager admitted. 'Lestrade's a French name, so speaking French is kind of a requirement.'

'His father taught him,' Mycroft said, remembering the few stories Greg had shared about his father, Peter- or Pierre, as his birth name had been.

'_Oui_,' Brandt replied, making Mycroft chuckle. 'And Dad taught me and Hannah.'

'_B__ien entendu_,' Mycroft said.

Brandt laughed and opened his mouth to reply, but his jeans pocket suddenly exploded with sound. Mycroft raised his eyebrows as Brandt groaned and dropped his fork before digging into his pocket. He pulled out an older model mobile phone and pressed a button to answer.

'_Brandt, where the hell are you? Mum's goin' mad!_' Mycroft assumed it was Brandt's sister, based on the voice, and she was shouting so loudly that Mycroft could hear her every word.

Brandt winced and pulled the phone away slightly. 'Calm down and stop shouting,' he said.

'_I'll stop shouting when you tell me where the hell you are!_' Hannah snapped.

'I'm at Dad's,' Brandt lied, glancing up at Mycroft briefly before looking away.

There was a pause before; '_Oh thank God. I thought you'd run off to Mitchell's again_.'

'As if,' Brandt rolled his eyes. 'Mitch is a dick, you know that.'

'_Yeah, yeah_,' his sister replied. '_So you're okay?_'

'I'm fine,' Brandt said. 'I just needed some space.'

'_I know what you mean,_' Hannah replied. '_Dave's been into my room _seven _times to tell me to keep it down. I can hear Brody and his mates laughing and shouting, and that's only when they pause their stupid game. But no, _that's _fine._'

'Yeah, I know,' Brandt rubbed at his face. 'Just, um... can you tell Mum where I am?'

'_Oh _hell _no!_' Hannah snapped and Brandt sighed. '_You call her yourself. She's already pissed off enough, I'd rather her yell at you then me_.'

'But _Hannah_,' Brandt whined.

His sister ignored him. '_You call her, Brandt, it's not my job. Besides, you deserve to get yelled at, not me_.'

'But she'll yell at Dad, too. Despite the fact that he had no idea I was coming.'

'_Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you took off after school_.'

Brandt sighed and rubbed his eyes. 'Fine, fine; I'll call Mum in a minute.'

'_Good. I'm goin' now, Macey brought over some movies and I've gotta make popcorn_.'

'Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, then,' Brandt said.

'_'Kay. Say hi to Dad for me_,' Hannah said before hanging up.

Brandt sighed again and put his mobile away, while Mycroft glanced down at his dinner, trying to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping.

'Sometimes she drives me up the wall,' Brandt said as he re-pocketed his phone. 'But at least she loves me.'

'Siblings are supposed to drive each other mad,' Mycroft commented, thinking about his own brother. Sherlock certainly made him angry enough to consider committing murder, but he'd still do anything for his brother. And Sherlock would do anything for Mycroft.

'Yeah, it's weird, isn't it?' Brandt said and picked up his fork. 'Like a love-hate relationship.'

'Yes,' Mycroft said. 'Your father doesn't understand.'

'Yeah, well he's an only child,' Brandt shrugged. 'Lucky bastard.'

Mycroft chuckled, and then turned when he heard the front door open. '_Quand on parle du loup_,' he commented and Brandt smiled slightly, but his eyes stayed on his plate. He looked tense and Mycroft smiled to himself before standing and going to greet Gregory in the hallway.

The DI was tugging his coat and jacket off as well as toeing his shoes off, and smiled when he spotted Mycroft.

'Hey, love,' he said and leaned over to kiss the red-head when Mycroft was close enough. 'I'm starving, and something smells good.'

'I finished cooking about twenty or so minutes ago,' Mycroft told him. 'How was your day?'

'Awful,' Greg groaned and held up his briefcase. 'I've got crime scene photos I want you to take a look at, since Sherlock's been banned from helping by John.'

'He'll be fine by tomorrow,' Mycroft said and took the briefcase from his boyfriend.

'I could use a beer,' Greg groaned, rubbing his eyes. 'Or wine- either one.'

'I think you'll need it after you see who decided to join me for dinner,' Mycroft said. Greg frowned and turned to look at him, but Mycroft just kept leading the older man down the hallway. Greg spotted his son as soon as he and Mycroft entered the main living space. The younger Lestrade was still sitting at the counter, his fingers twisted in his long-sleeved shirt.

'Brandt?' Greg gaped. 'What are you doing here?'

'Um... hey, Dad,' Brandt said slowly. 'I, uh... fancied a visit?'

'Brandt...' Greg growled, storming across to his son. 'What are you doing here? _How _did you you even get here, you live twenty minutes away!'

'There are these things called cabs...' Brandt started, but quickly snapped his mouth shut when his dad glared at him. 'I, um, stayed after school to do my homework, then took a taxi. Sorry.'

'Why?' Greg demanded.

'Mum's boyfriend's a prick and Hannah and Brody both have all their mates over,' Brandt finally said.

'Don't swear,' Greg muttered, but it was said out of habit rather than any annoyance at the boy cussing. He sighed and sat heavily on the stool beside his son. 'How'd you get Mycroft's address?'

'Stole it from your address book,' Brandt admitted.

Greg shook his head, and Mycroft handed him a glass of wine. 'Thanks, love,' Greg mumbled and took a big gulp. 'Okay,' he breathed out after swallowing, 'does your mum know you're here?' Brandt looked down quickly, and the DI groaned. 'Goddamn it, Bee...'

'Can't you call her?' Brandt asked. 'She'll go off at me if she knows I'm at your boyfriend's instead of your flat; you know how she is about you dating a bloke.'

Greg sighed and glanced at Mycroft, who shrugged. 'I don't mind if he stays here,' the red-head said. 'I have a guest room, if he feels like staying the night.'

Brant turned large puppy-dog eyes on his dad, who scowled.

'You're too much like me and I hate it,' Greg grumbled. 'Fine, if Mycroft's okay with it, you can stay.' Brandt pumped his fist in the air. 'But you're calling your mum yourself.'

'But _Daad_...' Brandt whined.

Greg just pointed at his son, who scowled but obediently pulled out his mobile.

'Fine,' the teenager muttered and walked away, heading for the hallway that led to the other rooms.

'I'm so sorry,' Greg said as soon as he and Mycroft were alone.

'It's fine, Gregory,' Mycroft replied.

'How long's he been here?'

'About twenty minutes or so,' Mycroft said. 'He told me his sister had all her friends over, and he didn't have friends, so he decided to come here.'

'Yeah, he kind of stopped talking to his mates after the divorce,' Greg murmured. 'They didn't wanna make the effort to see him after he moved and changed schools, and he's always been a bit of a loner.'

'He's a charming young man,' Mycroft offered.

Greg smiled at him. 'You two were getting along, then?'

Nodding, Mycroft took a sip of wine before saying, 'He's quite intelligent and mature for his age.'

'Yeah, he always has been,' Greg nodded. 'I'm glad you're getting along.'

Mycroft shrugged. 'As I said; he's a charming young man.'

'He's just like me,' Greg grinned cheekily, making Mycroft laugh. 'Which is terrible, actually,' the older man continued. 'I was a right terror when I was his age.'

'Yes, the punk rock phase,' Mycroft mused.

Greg pointed a finger at him. 'You, of all people, can't judge me, Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock showed me the picture of you with bleached blonde hair.'

Mycroft scowled. 'I should kill him for that,' he muttered and sipped his wine. 'Anyway, dinner's ready, but you might want to re-heat it.' Mycroft was going to microwave his own- he hadn't eaten much while talking to Brandt, and it had gone cold.

'Thanks, Myc,' Greg said and leaned on the counter. 'For everything.'

'All I did was let him in and talk to him,' Mycroft replied. After putting Gregory's dinner in the microwave, he turned to face his partner. 'Brandt seems okay with your sexuality, and us dating.'

'Yeah, he and Hannah took it really well,' Greg nodded. 'It helped that Hannah had a gay friend at school, and he and Brandt always got along when the kid came over.'

'Your ex doesn't like me,' Mycroft mused.

Greg snorted. 'It's nothing personal,' he said. 'She's completely okay with people being gay- as long as it doesn't affect _her_. If Brandt or Hannah were gay, well... then she'd have a problem. And I never told her I was bi.'

'Why not?' Mycroft asked. He'd been curious ever since Greg had admitted that he'd never told Karen.

'Well, we started dating when I was twenty-two,' Greg hummed, head tilted in thought. 'My best mate at the time, Steve, was bisexual. Karen made some homophobic remarks- something about not being able to trust a guy who played for both teams. I was trying to get her to sleep with me at the time, so I never said anything.'

Mycroft shook his head. 'You're just like every other man; anything for a pretty girl.'

'Don't pretend you never did something stupid for a guy, or _because _of a guy,' Greg said, leaning on the counter. 'Come on, wasn't there anyone at Oxford- some tall, nerdy dude with pretty eyes- that made you act all dopey?'

Mycroft paused to think about that, going through his rather impressive memory. 'Dante Fairbourne,' he finally said, and Greg cocked an eyebrow, clearly wanting to hear more. 'We went to Eton, and later Oxford, together,' Mycroft continued, 'and I... well, he _was _rather handsome once he'd matured. I may have tripped over a few things and stuttered like an idiot when he spoke to me.'

'Well there you go,' Greg said. 'So what happened, huh?'

'I slept with him for a few weeks before he got back together with his ex-boyfriend,' Mycroft answered.

'Of course you got him in the end,' Greg laughed as the microwave beeped.

'I'm rather good at getting the men I want, if you remember,' Mycroft said, passing Gregory his dinner.

Greg grinned at him. 'And I'm glad you are.'

Mycroft put his own plate in the microwave, and his and Greg's conversation was halted when Brandt walked back into the room.

'Okay, so Mum may have actually disowned me,' the teenager announced.

'What?' Greg asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

'She yelled a fair bit,' Brandt said, 'after I admitted I was at your boyfriend's.'

'Christ,' Greg sighed.

'She eventually calmed down, though,' Brandt continued. 'And she said I could get a bus home tomorrow. Or a cab, but only if you're paying.'

'Of course she did,' Greg muttered. 'So you're staying the night?'

'If that's okay with Mr Holmes,' Brandt said.

Both Lestrades looked at Mycroft, who stared at them. 'I already said you're welcome to stay, Brandt.'

'Thanks, _Monsieur _Holmes,' Brandt said and sat back down.

'You're welcome,' Mycroft chuckled.

'Hey, don't smile at my boyfriend,' Greg scowled, nudging his son. 'It's my job to make him all gooey and blush.'

'He blushed earlier, I'm sure of it,' Brandt told his dad.

Greg grinned at Mycroft, who busied himself retrieving his dinner from the microwave. 'Did you?' he asked.

'Not that I recall,' the younger man replied.

'Stop denying that you blush,' Greg said. 'You blush _all _the time, especially when I kiss that spot beneath your collar bone.'

'Ewe, Dad!' Brandt shouted. He cupped his hands over his ears and glared at his grinning father. 'That's disgusting, I don't wanna hear that!'

'Sorry,' Greg said, though he really didn't look it. He winked at Mycroft when the genius sat at the end of the counter, but Mycroft ignored him. 'So, how's school?' Greg decided to change the subject.

'S'alright,' Brandt shrugged and stuffed some pasta in his mouth, apparently fine with it being cold. The three spend the next hour talking, Greg and Brandt catching up on what had been happening in their lives since the last time they'd spoken. Eventually they moved to the sofa, Mycroft flicking aimlessly through channels while the Lestrades talked.

Three hours after getting to Mycroft's, it became clear that Greg needed sleep; he was yawning and blinking a lot, and kept missing every other sentence that his son said. Mycroft placed the remote on the coffee table and said, 'It's time for bed, Gregory.'

'Nah, m'wake,' Greg mumbled, making Brandt laugh.

'Dad, you're falling asleep talking to me,' he said. 'Go to bed, I don't mind.'

'Oh...' Greg yawned. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, we can talk tomorrow,' Brandt said. 'It's Saturday, right? I'll head home around midday, so we can spend some time together before I go.'

'M'kay,' Greg mumbled and stood- with Mycroft's help, because he really was exhausted. 'I'll see you tomorrow, mate.'

'Night, Dad,' Brandt replied.

'I think I'll turn in myself,' Mycroft said and looked at his partner's son. 'The guest room is at the end of the hallway on the right, and the bathroom's just before that. There are spare toothbrushes in the top drawer if you need one.'

'Thanks, _Monsieur_ Holmes,' Brandt smiled at him, and Mycroft knew that he was being thanked for more than the directions.

'_Bonne nuit_, Brandt,' Mycroft said.

Brandt smiled brightly at him. '_Fais de beaux rêves_,' the teenager replied, making Mycroft smile.

'What's with all the French?' Greg questioned as Mycroft led him across the room and down the hallway.

'Inside joke,' Mycroft told him.

Greg snorted. 'God, you've already got inside jokes? I'm gonna regret lettin' you two meet each other.'

'You didn't let us,' Mycroft pointed out, but Greg just waved a hand at him dismissively.

Greg went through his nightly routine on auto-pilot, his eyes half-closed as he brushed his teeth and stripped to his pants. He climbed into Mycroft's large bed and groaned as his head hit the pillows.

'Love your bed,' he muttered. 'Wanna marry it.'

Mycroft chuckled as he changed into his pyjamas. 'I'm not sure if that's legal, Gregory.' The DI just grunted, but snuggled into Mycroft's side when the red-head joined him under the covers.

'Thank you,' he murmured.

'For what?' Mycroft asked.

'For lettin' Brandt stay- and for talkin' to him 'fore I got here.'

'He's a charming young man,' Mycroft echoed his earlier words. 'And he's your son; I couldn't just kick him out.'

'Still,' Greg yawned. 'Thanks, Myc.'

'You're welcome. And if you want the flat to yourself tomorrow, just ask; I can leave.'

'No,' Greg said, his voice clearer than before. Mycroft looked down at him. 'He's my son, and you're my partner; I want you two to get to know each other.'

Mycroft nodded. 'Okay, Gregory.'

Greg smiled and leaned up to press a soft kiss to Mycroft's lips. 'Good,' he murmured before his head thudded onto Mycroft's shoulder, making the younger man laugh. 'Shuddup.'

Mycroft smiled and ran his fingers down Greg's back, lulling the DI to sleep.

'_Bonne nuit_, Mycroft,' Greg mumbled.

Mycroft smiled. '_Fais de beaux rêves_,' he replied.

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{THE END}

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**Author's Note: **There I am, minding my own business and playing Pokémon HeartGold, and BAM, Mystrade with teenagers hits me and my muse goes insane. So... yes, there you go. I hope you enjoyed :)

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}

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**Translations: **I went to MULTIPLE websites to check that these translations were right; basically I just looked up French greetings and checked to make sure each website said the same thing. If any native-French speakers think something's wrong, let me know. Okay, so the French roughly translates as;

_Oui_ – Yes

_Revenons à nos moutons_ - Let's get back on track/back to the subject at hand/back on topic

_Bonsoir_ – good evening/night

_Comment allez-vous? _– How are you?

_Bien entendu_ – Of course

_Quand on parle du loup_ – Speak of the devil

_Monsieur_ – sir/mister

_Bonjour_ – Hello

_Bonne nuit_ – Good night

_Fais de beaux rêves_ – Sweet dreams


End file.
